Pretend
by Silk and Shells
Summary: He does not pretend any longer. Reviews make me happy.


She smiles, but he can see it is fake. She looks like the perfect housewife as she busies herself pouring tea and coffee for her guests - usually including him - and they were none the wiser.

They notice the fact that she wears turtlenecks and long skirts or jeans and boots in the middle of summer, but they do not think anything of it.

After all, what could she possibly have to hide? Everyone agreed that they were the perfect couple.

He did not, of course, but what did his opinion matter? When he stood up and protested against their coupling in the wedding, they ignored him and went on with it because he was only the horrid, greasy-haired man and nobody cared about his opinion.

She has beautiful, wavy hair, and he thinks it's ironic where the first year sloppy red-headed boy hated the first year bushy-haired know-it-all with white but large teeth and suddenly they become the loveliest couple.

Nobody ever notices the inch of black and purple if she moves her neck and the collar slips down a little too far. Nobody ever notices her grimace as she is hugged a little too tight at times. Nobody ever notices the fear on her face as the man pulls her in for a kiss that is a little too rough but soft and beautiful to all of the others' eyes. Nobody ever notices her tense form when he pulls her in with a casual arm, kissing her temple lovingly.

Nobody ever notices.

He does, though; sometimes, when every other guest is busy conversing with eachother, he will watch them over the rim of his coffee cup. He notices it all; her flinches and the harsh glare on the man's face when she does something just a little too obvious.

He notices.

Her eyes will pass over him more than once and immediately they will disappear into another room:

"_Aww, a lovely young couple. I suspect he dragged her off to kiss her senseless, eh?_"

He sneers into his cup. They are stupid, if they do not notice anything. It is plain as day, and as much as he wants to, he does not follow them.

If her eyes pass over even their best friend even twice by accident, she will be dragged off none too gently into a side room. Nobody notices.

He notices.

Nobody notices her desperate attempts, to get them all together in one or more room; to have witnesses. They all pass it off as being a happy, loving, prideful wife, wanting to show off her wonderful home and family.

She will smile at him when she thinks he isn't looking, but her husband is always looking and they disappear once again. He lowers his head back over the tiny, lovely figure in the crib and pretends not to notice.

Sometimes she will come back with tears in her eyes. Nobody notices; he does. He will ask, sliding a cup of tea over to her, if she is alright. She smiles and says yes, wiping tears away, saying that she's just so happy to have such a wonderful family and wonderful friends.

These are not happy tears.

When her husband is talking about the dangerous, disgusting sport called Quidditch to his sister and his best friend, she will sneak out. He will follow and sit on the garden wall with her in silence. She will not talk and neither will he.

He disappears as the back door creaks open, though; always. It is better if he does, because then she will not get hurt.

"_What are you doing, babe?_" Her disgusting, stupid, worthless husband asks, kissing her neck.

He watches from the kitchen window, and turns away when she kisses him back.

He is not hated any longer and so they do not have their wands out when he kneels on the ground, running his long potion-stained fingers over their child's cheek.

He will pretend, just pretend not to notice her soft smile and her husband's hateful glare.

Do not notice and all will be well, he thinks.

That is a lie, and the next day they are not invited to her house for tea and conversation. The others do not notice. He does.

And the next day, there is no invitation.

And the next day there is no invitation that is most especially for him, smelling like her - roses and mint - wrapped in a silk black ribbon. The others simply have letters, but he has always gotten the same invitation, the same special invitation.

And the next day there is nothing.

And then the next day even after that there is nothing, and he will pretend not to notice and he will ignore the long-bearded, silver-haired man with half-moon glasses behind his chair in his office when he asks, "_Where is she, Severus?_"

And then the next day there is still no invitation and still no one notices, and it makes him angry, and when the portrait speaks, he tosses his coffee cup at it. There is no effect to the portrait and coffee spills over his floor and the cup breaks, but he is angry and he throws paperweights and everything he can find, yelling his heart out. "I do not know, okay? I do not know because she does not send invitations to me anymore and I do not know, Albus!"

And the next day he does not speak.

And then the next day, he gets an invitation, with the ribbon slightly askew and he pretends the corners are simply stained with some sort of red juice and it is not blood and he pretends he is not worried simply because the words are unlike her's - scrambled and tilted and blurred.

He pretends and he goes, and her husband is out and there is no one else there, but her, sitting at the kitchen table, staring into an empty cup.

He drags the chair out with a loud screech and sits and immediately asks, "Are you okay?"

She always responds with a yes, and this time is no different, but there is a pause and then she looks up.

"I don't know."

He does not pretend to not be worried anymore.

-x-

_Sorryy if this seems a little odd, I'm not quite the best writer out there, but reviews are love and cookies and cake that is not a lie, so please do it. Just click it - just even put a random 'j' in the review or something, as long as I see that little number up there when I check it obsessively later._


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